


Paid Time Off

by tigerpiidge



Category: Batgirl (Comics), DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Cassandra Cain Needs a Hug, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim and Cass do their version of a road trip and deal with their shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerpiidge/pseuds/tigerpiidge
Summary: One day, not long after *the fight* with Shiva, Cass goes on a much needed vacation.Tim tags along.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	1. Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I’m mashing up some timelines. I LOVE pre-52 Cassandra, but I know Rebirth best. And let’s be real – DC’s already done two resets in the past decade. They can handle me playing fast and loose with continuity. 
> 
> Also. DC did Cass Cain soooo dirty. An unforgivable offense.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Cass packs her backpack. 
> 
> "The last thing Tim needed was input from a failed-relationship extraordinaire. Kon, Cassie, and Steph could all testify to his many relationship flaws. Little incest circle, Black Canary had called them. Whether that epitaph was affectionate or not, Tim wasn’t sure."

_You might not want to be Batman – to take over from him when he’s done. But I do. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be. Is that wrong?_

* * *

Cassandra’s batgirl suit had always been more severe than Barbara’s. It lacked the open mask and bright purple. No fun yellow heels to feel, as Babs put it, “sexy, and wild, and clever.” Cassandra’s black boots made her feel more sturdy than desirable. Her entire suit was built to obscure everything that made Cassandra less than the perfect assassin. The mask hid her girlish lips and young face. Cassandra’s eyes were protected by reinforced glass-like fabric tinted black.

Almost concave, the glasses rested flush against her cheeks and the hollows of her eyes. No openings for an entrepreneurial opponent to gouge her eyes. Cassandra’s whole costume was constructed with the opponent in mind. The monochromatic black made her a hard shadow to pin down. No skin showed when she descended from the dark, lashing out with quick, precise moves, her eyes predicting stances and blows.

A shadowy blur of jabs, dodges, and blows. Nothing as beautiful or graceful as her against Lady Shiva but rare opponents compared. Against Gotham’s dregs, Cassandra fought mechanically. Graceful yet unchallenged. Most days, the perp wouldn’t last three seconds. Very few in Gotham understood that fighting was a dance. They were lusting after money or eager to look down Batgirl’s shirt.

Unlucky for them (or perhaps lucky) Cassandra was covered head to toe. Very few knew what she looked like and even fewer knew who she was. Cain made sure she wasn’t on any databases as a child and Batman had continued the practice.

Cassandra wasn’t like Tim, or Barbara, or Dick. She didn’t have a civilian personality. She was Cassandra who in turn was very loyally Batgirl. And Batgirl only. It was agreed that she and Batman liked it best like that.

She had been raised differently, both she and Batman understood that. Damien, who had a similar upbringing needed friends to soften him, to make him a child again. But Cassandra didn’t walk the knife’s edge like Damien. She was a girl who had killed and regretted. She was a girl forged in violence to be a weapon. She needed constant training, to release pent up energy. She needed those to confide in, a small minority to trust. But she didn’t need much. Damien on the other hand, was a black hole of need. He needed love, and a mother, and a father, and brothers, and family. He needed a salve for the darkness lurking behind his heart. Cassandra could empathize but she was a much different beast. She didn’t yearn for love; she was only gratified when she found it.

She had been taught exclusively non-verbally as a child. Words were… hard. Finding the right words to say were harder.

Barbara excelled in vocabulary. She was able to pull out works like magic tricks. Barbara had words for every occasion and situation. Cassandra was… less good.

She got her social interaction through Steph’s occasional visits but those had become less and less frequent. Perhaps Tim had finally frightened her away or pushed the hurting girl too far. Or perhaps Cassandra did both those things. She was always a more efficient fighter than Tim. Why not also for alienating friends.

Cassandra couldn’t say she missed Steph but there was a feeling of “not-good” that she could clearly identify. Like a steel hand, clamping down intermittently on her gut. It had taken Cassandra a long time and finally a meta-human psychic to learn how to use words. And if she were to give her feelings the closest approximation, it would be lonely.

Lonely.

Cassandra tested out the words, shaping her lips around them.

Crime never stopped in Gotham. That was one of the things Cassandra loved about the city. It was a dirty, dark home but one that was never boring. Gotham never didn’t need her. Like a needy lover, Gotham got more petulant, more violent, without constant attending. Batman had tried to leave before – how ever voluntarily – and the city got jealous.

Crime ramped up, greater than Cassandra had ever seen it when they realized their caped crusader was a little off: somehow less visible and less obsessive.

Dick stepped up and secretly, so did Cassandra. She bulked up her body armor and moved faster those months, hoping speed and illusion could bring her closer to Batman.

When Bruce was returned to them, Cassandra quietly retired her version of Batman’s cowl and Batgirl resumed her rounds. Cassandra had packed Batman away under some stray, hollow rock formation in her Cass Cave. She didn’t mention her moonlighting to anyone. Dick was stressed at the time, so far frayed and at the edge of his rope. Being Batman didn’t feel like a choice, it felt like a duty. And to Dick, Batman felt like a burden, one that dragged him down and did its best to smother his light.

When Bruce came back, Dick didn’t say anything – though she was certain he must have known. Oracle was similarly silent. Oracle, of course, knew.

But with Bruce back now, Gotham’s crime-meter was returning to the norm. And, if Cassandra dared say: Gotham was safer now.

The city’s jealousy had reeled the Batfamily back into town and with five active members, the city was safer than ever. It was safe enough that Batman had deemed it alright to take his sometimes lover (other times villain beau) out to the circus. Even Jason – though not strictly counted in Cassandra’s calculations -- lingered by the docks despite Batman having returned.

Even he was back. Everyone took a vacation every now and then and everyone came back.

What if… What if Cassandra did too? The ache in her chest had started after XX. And though she tried to ignore it, once she had the words to label it, the feeling felt unbearable.

Not quite loneliness.

No.

More like a wanting or a _missing_. A restlessness.

There is a words that should be explaining what Cassandra’s feeling. It’s absence and her inability to pull a magic word out frustrate her. _Dumb_ , Barbara had one said.

The older girl had apologized after but Cassandra still thought of it. _Dumb_.

Right now, Cassandra was missing something. Dumb.

Cassandra couldn’t help but think back to fight-dancing on cruise ships and in the dark of Tarakstan nights. An intimacy of the body, of fluid movements.

Would the city miss her? Would it crave her back like Batman?

If she left, what then.

~o00o~

Cassandra left a brief audio-message for Batman. She left another for Oracle and transferred it onto two separate bat-drives. Though she was no longer living with the older girl, she still felt an obligation to be forthright. Barbara tended to worry and then to hack into government systems to assuage her worry. Also, privately, Cassandra was afraid Batman wouldn’t disclose _at all_ that Cassandra was gone and it would be likely weeks before anyone would notice.

Two messages were best. She signed off her letters with no signature. Just a nice pause, a good inhale and exhale of her soft breathing. _I love you. I’ll be back soon._ Went unsaid but will be hopefully understood. She would take the audio messages and leave them in the Batcave when she stopped by the manor to grab her favorite sweater.

With a final glance to her home bat computer, Cassandra got to packing up her Gotham apartment. She didn’t have much in the way of furnishings and old garbage still littered the floor as per her design. However, Cassandra was surprised with how much _stuff_ she had accumulated over the years. After running away from her father, Cassandra spent eight years on the streets before Barbara took her in. Cassandra spent so many years having no worldly belongings or being told to discard immediately them, she pleased to see that despite all odds, she had a collection of nick-nacks. Sentiment and weakness as Cain would call them. Mementos from her stint at Bludhaven, a branded coffee mug from her one and only tour of Gotham U. She left her nick-nacks behind but in a surge of emotion. She packed the mug carefully along side some dark leggings and long sleeve shirts and slipped the dark bag over her shoulders.

She didn’t have a lot of money but while looking over her list of contacts, she had a lot of destinations to hit. Some big ones in the U.S. Bludhaven. Metropolis. Other destinations much further away.

Cassandra slipped her hood over her head and jumped out into the Gotham night

~ o00o ~

Tim was messing around with his utility belt when he saw Cassandra drop in through the library skylight. She was predictably silent, blending in into the library shelves. For a girl who didn’t (couldn’t?) read, she was oddly comfortable hopping over piled books and sneaking around the stacks. Tim watched her silently. His leg was still healing from its fracture but he could move around almost-normally now.

It had been a week since Bruce had returned with Jason in tow. Two weeks since Jason beat Tim into next week. The atmosphere in the manor was tense to say the least. Jason barely spent ten minutes in the foyer before swearing and exiting out the double doors. He was taller than Tim remembered and somehow more fragile looking. Since his departure, life in the manor felt odd, like the building itself wanted to celebrate, to sing in glee for the returned son but life and circumstance kept emotion tightly lidded.

It was stifling.

Bruce didn’t really talk. Or he talked less than he did before. He threw himself into his work, appearing at some society functions as the airhead billionaire while moonlighting with Catwoman. Tim didn’t exactly know how he felt about that but Barbara told him to can it so he kept his mouth shut.

The last thing Tim needed was input from a failed-relationship extraordinaire. Kon, Cassie, and Steph could all testify to his many relationship flaws. _Little incest circle_ , Black Canary had called them. Whether that epitaph was affectionate or not, Tim wasn’t sure. He remembered the woman’s hard hits and was not eager to find out or ask. He would keep his silence. Not knowing when to both shut his mouth and when to speak were reoccurring themes in his post-break-up critiques.

But given the manor’s stress, Tim had not expected to see Cassandra. She out of all of them – “them” being the bat kids – was the most flexible, the freest from Bruce’s bullshit. Somehow the invisible cords that kept tugging Dick, Tim, and Babs (and now Jason) back into Bruce’s radius seemed to hold onto Cass less. It was a weird agreement. She was the most consistent out of them, being Batman’s latest side-kick before Damien and one with almost zero life beyond suit business. But at the same time, the absence of a personal life kept her divorced from the Bruce-side of Batman.

Tim would die for his foster father, Batman or not. Cassandra, as far as Tim knew, would protect Bruce with the detached fervor she would defend any other civilian. But she would _die_ for Batman and Batman only. And that’s what set her apart. But now she was back in the manor for the second time this week. Babs was out tonight so Cass wasn’t visiting her. Tim briefly considered that Cassandra would be visiting Damian but he quickly dismissed it, shaking his head. C’mon Drake.

Tim slipped his utility belt back around his waist and got up to follow Cassandra.

~ o00o ~

She had to work fast. Alfred would be setting out dinner soon for the manor’s occupants and Cassandra wanted to grab some of the butler’s legendary scones on her way out.

Blueberry Scones. Undeniably delicious. Cassandra’s stomach growled, just thinking about the Englishman’s cooking.

Cassandra flitted down the main hallway, moving light-footed to her shared bedroom with Steph. Neither of them lived in the manor full time so when they did spend nights, they made something like a sleepover out of it. Nothing like healing wounds while braiding hair. Cassandra wasn’t initially sold on it but she didn’t care much for her accommodations in the beginning and by the end, she and Steph were so inseparable that sharing wasn’t an issue.

She opened her bedroom door slowly, letting the door draw open before her. No dust came furling out into the hallway light so Alfred was still tending to the room, as if it’s occupants would come back any day. Cassandra wondered if he would continue to preserve the room once she announced her leaving. It was highly unlikely that Steph would ever return to the manor. No, Steph had cut ties, committing to her new crime fighting family.

Cassandra tried not to feel bitter. That was the way the business worked. You graduate being a sidekick. Sometimes it’s a decision and sometimes it’s a push. When Steph was Robin briefly, she had been de-deputized with a harsh push and shove. Why Steph went back to becoming Spoiler, Cassandra didn’t know. And at the time, she was so overwhelmed, she didn’t even bother to ask.

That was the problem, right? Not bothering to ask.

Cassandra took a moment to stand in the threshold of her manor bedroom. Bruce had done his best trying to make the bedroom inviting. Cassandra imagined that the décor was from when she was younger, newly made Batgirl, when Bruce had seriously considered taking her under his wing in all things – like Dick, Todd, Tim, and now Damien. But they had quickly found their arrangement to be more suited for the professional. Cassandra wasn’t ready for anything else but violence and physical talk at sixteen.

A side effect of her upbringing. A hurdle for daily interaction and being not-dumb that Cassandra didn’t know if she had yet overcome.

Fighting is a dance. Movement is a story.

Few understood beyond a select audience – Batman, Cain, Lady Shiva, and a dark-haired boy with a braid in a Eurasian nation.

Cassandra mentally adds Karakstan to her growing list of destinations.

Cassandra wonders, if things were different at sixteen, if she had been a gentler child, if Cain had added some gentle refrains and praise in to her training, what would have happened now. Would she be as withdrawn and floating as her current self? Would she be a ghost like Dick?

Most likely, Cassandra would be dead.

Failure was not celebrated by David Cain.

Cassandra took a steadying breath, breathing in untouched air. Her father – Cain – was no longer her keeper. He had not been for ten long years. And yet, Cain impacts every thing she does or touches.

Would it have been more final to kill him in his prison cell? Would his blood scrub away his influence?

With renewed determination, Cassandra strode over to the desk where Barbara taught her to read. Pens were neatly aligned on the mahogany. Some squiggly letters and malformed words visible on the page.

She had only intended to grab the GCHS sweatshirt lying across the chair when a long shadow fell over her. Cassandra instantly tensed, ready for both a fight, a bow, or a brother. Turning with a high kick, she met Tim’s block. Before he could adjust and she stop herself, she shifted her weight and prepared for a better, more accurate hit. But seeing him, she lowered her leg and he lowered is arm, gently rubbing at what was probably a bruise.

“What are you doing up, Tim? It’s five am.” Cassandra tried to channel Barbara, and shift her dark pack subtly.

The look on Tim’s face was withering. Cassandra’s grip tightened on her sweatshirt and she tried for a smile like Dick. She aimed for careless and debonair. That made Tim’s face scrunch up more. Obviously not the right response.

She reverted to her default. Plain Cain. She read his body: the stiffness of his legs, the question in his alert ears and bright eyes.

_He was displeased. He had been awake all this time. And he wanted to know what was up with Cassandra’s pack_.

Cassandra wondered which of his thoughts she could address and found that she could respond to all of them. Cassandra had no more secrets, not true secrets like the one she had hid for a year. She had fought Lady Shiva. The death match was over in twenty minutes with both participants left breathing. Luck. A miracle.

Steph left because of secrets.

Secrets, secrets, secrets, in the dark, batty nights of Gotham.

How terribly trite.

Cassandra took a strengthening breathe and told the truth to the boy only one year her junior. She raised her shoulder with her pack, indicating it, and said: “leaving to find friends and a beach.”

Tim gave her another of her long, considering looks. What happened next, Cassandra did not expect nor necessarily want.

“Okay. But I’m coming with.”

Cassandra didn’t have enough of a reason to say no. She didn’t have the words or the patience.

Scones were waiting. Cassandra nodded.

* * *

A/n: The first quote is from Batgirl (2000) issue #59.


	2. Bludhaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Cass and Tim go to a Par-Tay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m including War Games-ish from pre-New 52. I’m honestly not sure what the status of Tim’s parents are in Rebirth but let’s assume they die some tragic death like before. This chapter is not so subtly influenced by the latest episode of Harley Quinn season 2 "Gothem U".

Cassandra and Tim catch the night train out of Gotham, Southbound to Bludhaven. They’re dressed up as civilians: Cassandra in an odd (but monochromatic and therefore at least matching, Tim thinks) pair of purple joggers and cropped sweatshirt. Tim dresses more like the billionaire’s son he is with nice jeans and a sweater. They’re quite the pair. Two teens (borderline legal adults) on their way to arguably the most dangerous city in the U.S.

They could have taken one of their motorcycles or “borrowed” one of Bruce’s cars but when Tim suggested it, Cassandra shook her head. She had been oddly determined to go “Bruce-free” this “vacation” (besides pulling from Bruce’s endless financial coffers). When they got to the ticket station, she faced Tim and indicated to Tim’s wallet which held his Wayne Industries credit card benevolently gifted to Tim by his oh-so-generous foster father. Cassandra had a card too but she was a little more careless with her personal items. Tim guessed she lost hers and didn’t care enough to call the bank.

Tim would have expected her to be frugal or at least somewhat attentive to her worldly belongings because of her time on the streets but Cassandra was the exception that proved the rule. The older girl was constantly tunnel-visioned. Money for Cassandra wasn’t a luxury. It was a tool.

Tim felt similarly. His father – when he was alive – had money. Lots of it. Not enough of it for Tim to be careless with it, but he had been comfortable enough not to view money with Dick’s penny-pinching mindset. Say what you want about the freedom of the Circus Life but Dick Grayson was a cautionary tale poster-child.

Sitting across from him, Cassandra seemed to be having a whole one-sided conversation with head jerks and eye-twitches. She was apparently explaining why they had foregone the relative comfort of home to be jostled around in a commuter train. However, Tim understood very little oh her micro-expressions and small movements. His lack of understand must have showed. Because Cassandra’s shoulders slumped.

In the end, all she said was: “more subtle.” To which Tim laughed out loud.

If there was one thing in the would Cassandra Cain was not, it would be subtle.

The girl was silent, cold, and impassive. But she had as much tact as a rhinoceros.

Subtle was not in Cassandra’s repertoire. Tim doubted Cassandra would know what subtle was if it bit her in the ass. This was the girl who learned to speak from watching drag and Project Runway. This is the girl who once dived into an ocean and chased a boat by swimming to destroy a human trafficking operation. Simultaneously, when that human trafficking boat went down, so did _months_ of Tim and Bats’ planning. Weeks of careful surveillance gone in a fiery poof.

However, Hour Two was a little early for fighting so Tim stayed quiet. But it Cassandra appeared to have divined his disbelief because she blushed, hunching into her bumpy train seat.

Tim settled back. Bludhaven gave Tim an odd feeling. For so long now, Tim had been mentally considering Bludhaven Dick’s domain. Long past were the days that Tim patrolled Bludhaven streets, occasionally accompanied by Cassandra.

Tim didn’t remember Cassandra being a particularly social seventeen year old and he didn’t understand why she would want to go back to the godforsaken city. But as Tim watched the urban scenery pass in the window, fading into lusher fields, he thought about unfinished business.

~ o00o ~

Cassandra fidgeted, a highly unusual occurrence. Tim picked up on it. He elbowed her in a rare showing of siblings-in-bat support. On the train into Bludhaven, she had taken her hair up and down, rearranging her new bangs: straight in front of her forehead, to the side, back to straight, parted in the middle. Cassandra would probably have kept fussing outside the café she led them to if Tim didn’t start walking forward.

Cassandra fell into step neatly next to him. Her anxious movements quelled.

Batman’s training. Of course.

So ingrained in their bodies, able to be triggered with a mild hand raise or intense Bruce look.

Tim knew because he had gotten the same training to fall into step. It’s the first thing you learn as Robin and later as Bruce Wayne’s charge.

Bruce Wayne’s response to the anxiety of children, expectantly in his War on Crime, was a mighty (yet frustratingly terse) statement about professional posture. His second recourse to anxious children was a second, very terse reminder that they were preforming extermination, protecting good, innocent citizens. The subsequent adrenaline helped cement the process.

Going out on patrol was like a gift. One given by the most elite Gothamite and crime fighter. Batman was both Tim’s icon and an impossible, impassible figure.

But what loomed before Cassandra and Tim was not a dark alleyway or brute.

An innocuous, brightly colored awning greeted them. A bell tinkled when they entered, and the smell of cappuccino was in the air.

Cassandra, self-professed ex-assassin extraordinaire, had brought Tim to the most regular, square location in Bludhaven. Tim took a quick survey of the room, checking for suspicious individuals doing suspicious things. Anyone who looked away too quickly or watched them too closely.

Cassandra did not follow Bat procedure.

She just marched straight up to the counter and seemed to steel herself. “Brenda, do you still sell Assam tea?” Cassandra said in one breathe. She looked even more anxious than outside the shop. Not good socially indeed.

It stuck Tim how young Cassandra looked, how nervous and small. She was a year and a half older than him but she had years of training on him. When he met her at fourteen, he considered her an adult. She was the best technical fighter in the bat cave.

But in the tea shop, Tim saw her as a nineteen-year-old, five-foot-four girl that never learned to flirt.

Tim noted that Cassandra’s blood pressure was rising (probably). He couldn’t say for certain but her words were too quick, too practiced.

She paused like she had missed something.

“Sorry, Hi.” Cassandra waved awkwardly to a girl with too many piercings and tattoos for Tim’s taste.

He liked his blondes with long hair and clear skin. Maybe one tattoo was okay but more was questionable. His mother was, of course, still somewhat conscious at the mental health facility. However Tim could admit that the barista was pretty, in a ex-convict way.

The barista stood still, her blonde hair coming up in bunches, slowly uncurling and releasing from her loose bun. Blonde barista held her silence, trying to place the Cassandra’s face. “Big Tipper?” The Barista asked.

“Yep?” Cassandra squeaked. Tim gawked. “Hi, uh, Brenda.”

Cassandra seemed to get increasingly uncomfortable while the Brenda’s smile grew larger and just a touch more predatory.

“Wish you were still wearing that schoolgirl outfit.”

Cassandra’s shoulders creeped up which was her equivalent of a blush. Gesturing to her matching purple joggers and shift, Cassandra shrugged a little too forcefully, pushing her shoulders down. “This is what I had on hand.” Brenda smiled still. Cassandra started to lean away.

Oh, Tim was wrong. This café _was_ fun. So much more fun than a drug house or dark, mysterious alleyway. If Catwoman (and cats by extension) weren’t so taboo in the Wayne house, Tim would have likened Cass to a started black cat.

“One Assam tea coming right up.”

The barista’s smile held a promise. Cassandra tentatively returned it, watching Brenda as she turned her attention to Tim.

Tim ordered a mochaccino _with_ whipped cream. The smile he received was polite, it a little curious.

Tim followed Cassandra as she moved to a table in the back. She situated herself in the corner, able to see all possible exits and entrances. She seemed to settle into the café seat, more comfortable and relaxed in the café than in most places Tim saw Cass. Even in the train, the girl had a low-grade radar going, constantly checking and triple-checking their surroundings. In the Café, Cassandra seemed less anxious. Tim took a quick look to check for any new suspicious individuals, but none stuck out to him. When he finished, he looked back at Cassandra expectantly. There was a lot Tim didn’t know about his sister-in-bat.

Bludhaven for Tim had been a kind of hell. It was harsh work with zero to no reward. The streets were dark at night and day. Every criminal he took down got replaced within minutes. The city was like a never-ending battery of criminality.

However, Bludhaven seemed to have something more like a home for Cassandra. She relaxed. Of course, only Cassandra would call the most violent city in the U.S. (the one with the most violent crimes per square mile) home.

(Note: Bludhaven has less big psycho villain actors than Gotham. There’s no joker equivalent. However, Bludhaven beat Gotham four years in a row for most violent American city thanks to the diligent efforts of petty criminals.)

Bludhaven’s lack of “Big Bads” was what lead Batman to assign Tim to the city.

Or more likely, the lack of “Big Bads” is how Batman reassured himself that Tim could handle striking out on his own when Tim left Gotham and Bruce’s oppressive influence.

“So,” Tim started. “Why did you leave Bludhaven? I mean, I know why _I_ left. But you seem to like it here.”

Tim leaned forward on the tiny table, putting his big forearms into the dainty top. He wasn’t asking his full question. And why leave Gotham. But he thought that was a question for another day. Cassandra recognized his restraint and took a moment to answer his spoken question. Her eyes suggested she was still processing the words, re-arranging and analyzing his question in her head. She began mouthing a response before her vocal choards chimed in. “Don’t remember why I left. Being foolish. Looking for someone”

“Oh.”

Tim let the silence lie. Cassandra didn’t seem to have more to say. If anything, she seemed to be lost in thought, swimming in her own words and memories. Tim could relate. After a grueling year and tragic sixteenth birthday, Tim had gotten the heck out of berk. Or rather, the heck out of Bludhaven.

So much blood spilled on cement streets. One would be surprises that the walkways of Central Blud Park were not fully stained scarlet. Abominable place. But, Tim reasoned, Bludhaven did have one thing he wanted. Call him sentimental.

Brenda arrived at their table, dropping off their necessary doses of caffeine. However, along with the drinks, the blonde woman with the crop top handed Cassandra a flyer. With a careful eye on Cassandra, Brenda began to read the flyer aloud. Tim jerked. Brenda knew Cassandra couldn’t read. Of course, Cassandra, for most of her life, couldn’t read and Tim supposed that illiteracy was hard to hide. Barbara had spent the greater part of last year working through letters and sight-reading with Cassandra.

Brenda’s eye contact with Cassandra’s stayed true.

“SUD SPLASH, SYD’s Birthday -- ” Brenda read.

“ – Bash.” Cassandra finished the poster’s title.

“You can read now.” the waitressing girl stated with a raised eyebrow. “Wanna go?”

Tim made a strangled noise. Was he laughing or in shock.

Brenda ignored Tim in favor of bearing down upon Cassandra. Brenda’s hip was cocked and her chest parallel to their small table. Brenda was only a couple inches from Cassandra’s face. If the clips holding Brenda’s side bangs slipped, Tim was sure her blonde hair would be swaying against Cassandra’s nose.

Cassandra, ever the trooper, smiled.

Later, Cassandra would repeat to Tim that yes, they were going to a party tonight, invited by a friend. She repeated the event like Tim had not been sitting inches from Brenda when Cass was invited. Perhaps the reiteration was to clear the record. Brenda was a friend. Cassandra had friends.

Perhaps, Cassandra needed to reaffirm that statement for herself.

~ o00o ~

The entrance to Syd’s Sudsy Splash Bash was awash in color. Two large lights on the lawn colored the apartment building neon lights, spinning colorful designs across the aged brick. Cassandra had pulled an impossibly small skirt and long sleeve shift from her bag, pairing the two with her usual work boots. Tim had less luck finding good party attire. It had been a while since he had attended anything wilder than a University Provost dinner or Wayne event. The best Tim could rummage up on short notice was a pair of khaki shorts and a salmon shirt. “Splash Bash” sounded vaguely topical. Tim hoped.

Three large guys stood guard at the entrance wearing neon orange “staff” shirts. Frat guys. Clearly, Syd’s Bash was a college event. Cool. Tim had never been to a college party before.

The frat guys on guard asked for Cassandra’s college IDs to which Cassandra meekly pulled out the rumpled poster and said they had been invited.

The right-most frat bouncer looked Cassandra up and down. He saw a teenage girl, pretty harmless, acceptably cute. “Ok,” he relented. “go on in.”

With a slight performative smile, eager to find her friend, Cassandra walked through. When Tim tried to follow, the boys in orange clucked their tongues. “Nope, sorry my dude. Need to bring four girls to pass.”

Tim gaped. “What?”

Cassandra stopped in the doorway, halfway through.

The guy in orange shrugged. “Come back with a better ratio or go wait in the boys line.”

Tim looked behind him and sure enough, party-goers were divided into three rough groups. One of just girls that moved relatively fast. Another in the middle, co-ed, and a final sluggish “boys” line.

When Tim hesitated, the largest boy in orange, started puffing up and pushing back his chair to intimidate Tim.

But all Tim could think about was his third-grade bullies. Was this guy serious? Tim wasn’t in elementary school anymore. Tim was Robin. Tim could _easily_ take him down. One good hit to the sternum and the orange bouncer would be as good as done. And wherein lies the crux. Tim wasn’t Robin tonight and violence was never an answer. It had taken Tim a long time to relearn that truth.

With his hands up in surrender, Tim backed away. He mentally shoo-ed Cassandra into the frat house with his eyes. At the very least, Tim could be a good wing man and wait in an impossibly slow line so Cassandra could get some much-awaited action.

Cassandra looked conflicted but as more girls began to get their college IDs swiped and filed through the door, Tim found himself watching Cassandra’s back slip through the Splash Bash doors.

He told himself, very firmly, that he was not disappointed. With any luck, Cass would get laid. Tim tried not to think too hard on the morality of hoping Cassandra, his emotionally stunted friend, would lose her virginity on a beer-covered frat floor.

He didn’t really know her story. He didn’t know her interests but if it was blonde-tattoo-barista girl, then that was that.

~ o00o ~

A party in Bludhaven. How novel. Well, Barbara was always telling Cass to be “more normal” in Gotham.

Cassandra could remember her first party (also in Bludhaven, also with Brenda) but then, Cassandra had been younger and mooning over a skinny guy with kind eyes and shaggy hair.

In the present, Cassandra was nineteen and very much curious to know what the inside of Brenda’s tricky mouth tasted like. She wondered if it would be warm or scorching, if it would hurt more than a bullet.

Cassandra spotted Brenda across the dance floor. It took only moments to squeeze herself through the crowd. While most days Cassandra cursed her small stature and lack of body mass, tonight she was thankful.

The converted dance room was incredibly stuffy and warm. The music playing made no sense. But when Brenda grabbed Cassandra’s hands and started dancing with her, the environment become tolerable.

The intensity of the situation almost drowned out Cassandra’s never ending inner thought cycle: exits, people, exits, people, exists, people, threats, threats, threats.

In no time, Cassandra felt feverish. Sweat dripped down her back. It all felt like too much: music, people, bumping. It felt like a fight that Cassandra couldn’t help but react to. Looking up, Cassandra bumped into her dancing partner and her breath caught.

She was nose to chin with Brenda.

The other girl was taller. It had been over a year since Cassandra had seen her. And back then, Cassandra had been too insulated in her own head to think about wants and needs beyond simple attention. Brenda’s friend with the kind eyes gave Cassandra the attention she craved, and she thought that want want want might be attraction. But Cassandra of past knew nothing. Because if past Cassandra knew _anything_ , she would know that Cassandra liked the bruising, hard press of fingers on her small hips not the butterfly boy’s touch.

Brenda was something else. She met Cass where Cass was and she was confident. Pretty and gangly, Brenda knew what to do when Cassandra faltered. She kept the music playing when Cass forgot the words or lost track of what was happening, which hand was where.

Cassandra tried not to feel too bad for Tim standing outside when she used the palm of her hand to push wet strands of blonde hair from Brenda’s face. Brenda’s eyes were as bright and mischievous as the first day Cassandra met her. It made Cassandra want to cry from relief. But Cassandra thought tears would be embarrassing. Instead, Cassandra snaked her hand to the back of Brenda’s head, holding he junction between skill and neck. The softness she held in her hand was a spot she was familiar with. Dozens of hundreds of times, Cassandra had aimed for the soft opening to paralyze full grown men and women. But holding Brenda was wildly and excitably unfamiliar. And it didn’t make Cassandra think of killing and threats and exits. And not thinking about exits and threats and killing, if only for a little bit, made Cass happy.

Cassandra was smiling was she pulled Brenda down gently.

They met gently, the pressure on Cassandra’s hips asking _if this was okay. If this was too much. If they should stop. If this was a mistake._

Cassandra couldn’t talk. She didn’t have the words. She didn’t have the _oxygen_. She wanted more. Cassandra was never known for her gentleness.

The kiss tasted like Natty light and white wine and toothpaste. And Cass wanted more. Forcing their bodies flush, Cassandra noted the absence of a fifth member. And she didn’t mind. She was happier for it. She knew a woman’s body far better than a man’s.

Then, Cassandra found herself _spinning_. With deft movements, Brenda turned Cassandra so her back fell neatly into Brenda’s front. And when Cassandra was securely planted, Brenda turned her attention to the strip of white, unmarked flesh.

Despite the hot room, Cassandra could feel herself going cold than hot with every sharp bite. Brenda had an unusually sharp incisor. Cassandra had noticed it when they first met. What she didn’t know then was that she would be so thankful for that genetic quirk.

“Ear,” Cassandra hissed and gasped. Brenda obliged, laving attention and tugging at Cassandra’s least favorite feature of her body.

They were two girls, in a crowded frat house. The music was questionable and loud. Cassandra couldn’t see the exits. She didn’t know how many people were in the room but she felt safe. She thinks, this is fun.

Cassandra let herself go limp and sway with Brenda’s hips for a moment, enjoying the other girl’s attention before she turns around, bringing her and Brenda’s faces together.

Brenda looks flushed, a high pink color in her cheeks. Her skin is warm and Cassandra laughs new air into her friend’s (lover’s?) breath. Their eyes meet and the familiarity of it all knocks the breath out of Cassandra’s lungs. Swaying with Brenda felt like friends and something more.

Cassandra has not mastered sensitivity. She is still working to understand her own wants and thoughts. But kissing Brenda, feeling her legs be jelly, makes Cassandra happy.

After a long final kiss, a firm press of glossy lips on lips, Cassandra remembers to not be selfish. “I’ll be back,” she says, hoping her small voice and young words are loud enough for Brenda to hear.

Whether the other girl heard her or not, Cassandra doesn’t know. Brenda nods her affirmative, swaying slightly and already moving away, pushed by the crowd.

It feels like goodbye but Cassandra tries not to think about it. With one last look at Brenda and Brenda’s red, swollen lips, Cassandra dips away.

~ o00o ~

Tim’s not any closer to the front of the line than he was ten minutes ago. The line was at such a standstill that he and the other boys resorted to sitting on the grass. He has come to an understanding that for any seven girls allowed in, perhaps a single boy would be admitted. Assuming that boy was moderately attractive and not too awkward looking. Tim had never had a reason to question his physical attractiveness. But this line was making him doubt himself. He knew he was somewhat average.

Not as boyishly charming as Dick. Not as roguish as Todd.

Tim was pleasantly cute, made hotter by Wayne wealth.

That was the truth. Tim was a pragmatist. And if he ever got to the front of the line, he hoped the bouncers would recognize him as hot enough but not too hot.

Tim rolled his eyes. College students were tools. All of them.

“Psst,” Tim heard but more felt a hand closing in on his wrist.

Normally he would react, but the hand was familiar and the way it grabbed him signaled that the owner was asking for silence. He acquiesced.

Two figures melted into the dark on the lawn of Syd’s Splash Bash.

Back in the heat of the frat house, Cassandra let her body start moving again to the music’s beat. She moved differently than with Brenda. Now, her objective was to make Tim feel comfortable. Between the two of them, Cassandra was the most adept with dancing. Fighting is at its core, a dance after all.

Under the pulsing beat of the music and lights, Cassandra tried to draw Tim further into the crowd, seeking out the center. But before two long he noticed resistance on her tugs and saw how Tim’s spine would straighten. Cassandra understood his tension as fear and she did her best to smile reassuringly.

Dancing was one of the few things Cassandra understood. And Tim and she didn’t need a crowd to dance. Cassandra pulled Tim to the edge of the dance floor this time but the tension in his shoulders didn’t abate. Cassandra made goofy faces at Tim, encouraging him to scream, jumping around with him when a song they _finally_ knew came on but her brave friend wouldn’t relax. His eyes kept roving the space. Cassandra wanted to say they were among friends but she understood what he felt. They were exposed in tight quarters with many, many strangers and civilians.

Cassandra’s eyes softened and she led him out a broken window, out into the night. Under the half light of the moon, Cassandra lead Tim out on unsteady feet into fence tops and then roof tops. She repeated her foolish-looking jumping and screaming routine, singing the lyrics of a song past. Something about the setting of the ridiculousness cracked Tim and soon they were both screaming into the night.

Tim felt like he was fourteen in Titans Tower. Cassandra felt as though she was finally understanding something. Like a planted seed, beginning to bump its little green head above the soil.

Later, one passably high collegiate procrastinating their entry level economics class swore upon the University crest that he saw figures scaling the walls, running parkour on fence tops. _Serious_ parkour. Flips and shit. On fences.

His more sensible friend rolled their eyes and demanded the bowl be passed back.

**Author's Note:**

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